


a new obsession (to get me through the night)

by cryoreal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst, Auror Draco Malfoy, Companionable Snark, Curse Breaker Hermione Granger, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Original Magical Object, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Unlikely amounts of plot, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24200491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryoreal/pseuds/cryoreal
Summary: “I couldn’t leave you there alone.”His grey eyes pounded down at her, anger and desperation in the set of his jaw. “It was too dangerous to leave you alone. Everyone has a partner.”“I’m not a bloody Auror!”“No,” he agreed, his thumb coming up to press into her chin, “You’re better.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends! I'm dipping my toes into Dramione and seeing what happens. I am making ZERO promises about this WIP. It's been in the making for at least 6 months now, and I'm sure it'll take just as long to finish. However, I'm craving validation, so I'm going to throw my first chapter out and see how it goes!
> 
> This story will NOT be long - I'm thinking maybe 20-25k words at the max. Thanks for reading and have fun!

There was something about him. Something about the way he watched her. 

Over drinks after long days. Over dinners with the rest of their group, Harry and Pansy snogging in a corner and Ron making eyes at any unattached woman in the pub. Over tense elevator rides in the morning and overstuffed, action-oriented meetings in the afternoons. 

He was always watching. 

The worst part about it was that he didn’t even seem guilty.

It was the sixth month of his Aurorship, the program thriving under the rebuilding, rebranded Ministry of Magic. It was the middle of her third year as a cursebreaker, constantly on call and on site with the Aurors to detect, deactivate, and defend them against the Dark objects consistently found in the field. 

And he just kept watching her. 

She had had enough of it. 

“What the fuck is your deal?" 

“Language, Granger.” He looked bored and disdainful, slouched regally in one of her reupholstered wingbacks. She’d worked hard to make her office comfortable, yet professional, and here he was with his dragonhide boots perched on the opposite seat and his cloak tossed messily onto the rack. “Potter needs you in the field again.”

“I already know that. You know that I know that. The Portkey is set to leave tomorrow morning. Why are you here?”

“I work here.”

“Really? You work here, in my office? News to me. Should I get your desk set up? I’ll put it in the corner for you.” She had been making a point of not paying attention to him - Malfoy thrived on it. Her quill was threatening to crack in her hand. Hermione set it down calmly, ignoring his upraised brow. 

“When I say again, I really mean now.” 

“You’re not my boss. I’ll catch the Portkey tomorrow like we planned.” She finally looked up fully, tossing her hair imperiously. 

He looked… tired. Haggard. Almost grey, even, his skin puckering at the cheeks in a way that reminded her of the draw of his mouth, the dimples at the base of his spine…. _Focus,_ she reminded herself. It wouldn’t do to linger on memories today. 

Malfoy heaved a great sigh, stretching out a bit more luxuriously. She glared at the leather of his boots, scuffing the soft cream of her chair, and shoved them to the floor with a flick of her wand. 

“See, I’d love it if you stayed in this pretty little cage a bit longer - it’ll make the mission quieter, at the very least - but Potter thinks he’s found a Lurixo, and he’s insisting you join him. Posthaste, if you will.” 

Hermione shot out of her seat, one hand already on her bag, and nearly vaulted the desk in her eagerness. “Why on earth didn’t you say so earlier? A Lurixo?! Christ, Malfoy, that’s incredible! Go, go, let’s go!” 

He glared at her balefully, still settled into her armchair, and she dumped him onto the floor with a hefty sigh and a jerk of her wand. “Come on!”

“Pushy, pushy,” he muttered, brushing invisible dust off his sweater haughtily. “Come on, I’ll Apparate us.” 

“Where’s the team today? It can’t be too far, if we’re Apparating instead of catching that Portkey. Oh, I can’t believe you took your precious time about this, I could string you up by your toes for that-”

“Hush, Granger, you’ll have plenty of time to berate me later.” His grey eyes rolled in a way that was disturbingly appealing, and she shoved her hands into her cloak to hide the nervous twitching of her fingers. “We’re already to the Apparition point, if you could?”

She then noticed the stiff way he held his elbow out to her, indicating the proper Side-Along technique, and she nodded excitedly, nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. 

“Hold still,” he snapped, “you’re no help to us if I splinch you into tiny pieces.” 

“Why Harry sent you, of all people, to fetch me, I’ll never have any id-”

Her words were cut off with a shriek as they squished and squeezed through space, appearing in front of a looming, black manor, nearly writhing with Dark energy, even from a hundred feet away. 

Malfoy’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Welcome to the ancient House of Black.”

Hermione whirled to face him. “You weren’t on this mission today.”

“Nope.” He popped the ‘P’ like a child, and she nearly swatted him on the arm in frustration. “No wonder Harry sent you. You were probably the only one in the office!”

His eyes rolled skywards again. “It’s not like I was banished like some wayward child. I had important reports to do.”

“Important reports,” she mocked him, her voice ear-piercingly shrill. “This is your house.” 

“I haven’t yet set a toe inside the door. It simply belongs to the Black family, of which I am the only living heir. Therefore, it was a conflict of interest for me to scope it out for valuable artifacts. I may be-” he paused here to sniff affectedly “-compromised.” 

She held back a laugh only by sheer force of will. “Take me to Harry, then, please.” 

“Expecto Patronum.” A sleek silver fox dove from the tip of his wand, fluffy tail twitching as it stared up at Malfoy. “Harry Potter. I’ve brought Granger. Where are you?” 

They set up the narrow drive together, the itchy feeling of Dark magic only growing stronger as they drew closer. Hermione failed to hold back an involuntary shiver. 

“You never truly get used to it.” She glanced at him in surprise, though the way his face was set, she wouldn’t have known he had even spoken. “The feeling.”

“It is a bit…. Uncomfortable,” she said diplomatically. It made her want to tear her skin off and leave it on the stones. 

He snorted. “Uncomfortable. Right.” 

They were just stepping up to the wide, imposing doors when Harry’s stag materialized in front of them. “Second floor drawing room. Take the staircase, second hallway to your left, a right turn, then two lefts. This place is a fucking maze.” Message finished, the stag drifted away in the wind. 

One small swish of Malfoy’s wand and the doors were open to them, a yawning darkness unfolding and spilling out onto the steps. Hermione shivered involuntarily.

“Up you get,” he muttered, and they stepped into the vast blackness together.

Several lamps flickered into brightness the second Malfoy crossed the threshold, sending the room into a dim, flickering light. It was mostly empty, devoid of any furniture or ornaments, dust layered thickly in the corners and cobwebs mucking the ceilings.

“It’s been essentially abandoned for a decade.” Malfoy’s voice was low, but held a bit of disdain. “Dearest Grandfather has been gone since I was twelve, and all the elves left to serve Aunt Bella and Mother after that. I’m not wholly surprised to see that Mother let it get into such disrepair.” He cast the dirty ceilings a snotty look. “She never much liked it here.”

The pair ascended the staircase together, Malfoy leading the way through the dim, twisting branches of halls. Harry was right - it was essentially a maze. Old Pureblood manors were often designed this way, to confuse outsiders and discourage them from snooping outside of accepted public settings. 

Well, guess what? Hermione thought viciously. Your home has been infiltrated by Muggleborns, led by your traitor of an heir, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

The closer they came to the drawing room, the warmer it felt. The itching feeling had almost entirely evaporated, which she couldn’t be more grateful for. There was a warm yellow light pouring through the doorway, comfort settling through her bones.

“No wonder Harry knew it’s a Lurixo,” she muttered, mostly to herself. Lurixos appeared as pulsing, floating orbs of light, about the size of two fists pressed together. They exuded feelings of warmth, happiness, and comfort, drawing in unsuspicious viewers and enticing them to feel the calmly pulsing magic for themselves. From there, the Lurixo latched on to the unsuspecting witch or wizard, slowly draining them of their lifeforce until they were nothing but a shriveled husk on the floor. Lurixos had become especially popular during the last war, because whoever had cast the curse could siphon out the “donated” magic and energy and put it into whatever they liked - other, darker curses with more immediate effects, or even for storage purposes in the case of extended battles. 

It was a tricky bit of magic, so finicky that it often backlashed on the witch or wizard trying to cast it and killed them instead of creating the tethered ball of light. Hermione had never seen one in person. 

It was terrible, and beautiful, and deadly. And, despite its appearance, very, very Dark.

Hermione was so caught up in the softly pulsing light, the glimmer and glitter that surrounded it, that she hadn’t even noticed her outstretched fingers only an inch away until Malfoy yanked her back with a curse of fucking Gryffindors under his breath. 

“This curse is extremely strong,” she noted swottily, choosing to ignore the fact that she had almost just been Lurixo meat. “It must have been cast by an exceptional witch.” 

“Or wizard,” Malfoy muttered, hissing sharply when Hermione’s elbow found his ribcage.

“It definitely is,” Harry agreed. He looked tired as well, his hair an even larger mess than usual. “I had to bind Dean and Clearwater before they made a mess of things.”

“Well, everybody out now,” Hermione said bossily. “No need for unnecessary heroics. I’ll come find you in a moment, after I’ve boxed this up nice and safe.”

Harry undid his Incarcerous with a gentle whoosh of air and Dean and Penelope rose in sync. “Good to see you,” Dean murmured with a pat to her shoulder, and she and Penelope shared quiet grins as they passed each other. 

It wasn’t until the door shut with a gentle snick that she noticed Malfoy was still in the room. 

“You heard me. Everybody out.” 

“Granger, don’t be a fool. I just watched you nearly touch a curse that’s so Dark you would have been choking in two seconds flat. I’m not leaving you alone in here. Besides…” his face shifted into a predatory grin, “everybody gets a partner. Auror rules.” 

“I’m not an Auror.” 

“No,” he breathed, “you’re better.” He settled himself into the chair Dean had left behind, crossing one ankle over a knee, and started to watch her.

_Damn him._

She ran through her options quickly, pages of books rifling through her mind. She had to contain but not nullify the magic involved - it might take some time, but she was sure she could eventually figure out who cast the Lurixo with enough analysis. She couldn’t take it back to the Ministry the way it was - so a container of some sort, non-conductive, probably warded out the ears - yes. 

It took a good three minutes of spellwork, with Malfoy watching on through hooded eyelids, before she managed to transfigure the second, now unused, wooden chair into a square copper box, using her wand to manipulate each of the sides into place around the orb, before sealing it all together and lowering it to the floor with a great sigh. The golden glow about the room was gone, and she felt oddly bereft without it. And itchy.

“Three minutes for one measly Transfiguration spell? You’re losing your touch.” 

“Shove off,” she replied, but there was no heat in it. “I had to imbue the copper with a few protective wards, some gentle repelling spells, and maybe a jinx or two. Just in case.” 

“Why on earth would you jinx a curse? Redundant.” 

“I wasn’t sure if the wards would hold. I mean, who knows how many people it’s sucked in and eaten? It could be stronger than Dumbledore by this point.” She brushed her hands off on her thighs, frowning at the amount of dirt she’d collected in her short stint on the floor. “So I laid a hex into the copper. Just a minor Depulso, if anyone but me comes within six inches of it.”

“How cautious of you.” Malfoy rose to his feet primly, giving the box a wide berth as he made his way to the door. “If it’s no bother, I’ll leave you to collect it, then.” 

The box floated serenely behind her. It didn’t even look like a life-sucking curse anymore. 

“You all head back first, and I’ll follow,” Hermione instructed. “I don’t want anyone Apparating with this but me.” 

Harry nodded his head in agreement, the five of them beginning their trek back through the maze, when Malfoy grabbed her by the arm. “You can’t Apparate with that thing. You just said the wards might not hold.”

“They’ll hold long enough. I have to get it back to the Ministry. It can’t just sit out unprotected, and the fact that it’s even here means that there’s some Dark wizard out there feeding off the magic. It’ll be a priority case for me.” 

“No sodding way, Granger. I’ll come with. I’ll be your Auror bodyguard.” He smirked then, crossing his arms across his chest, and she was momentarily distracted by the flex of his biceps. _Christ, Hermione, get a grip._

“No. Besides, shouldn’t you ask Harry first? He’s in charge here.”

“Technically, I’m not a part of this mission, so he’s not in charge of me.”

“Sneaky, sneaky,” she murmured, heading down the magnificent staircase. Purebloods and their manors, what a ridiculous show of wealth. 

They had all finally made their way far enough down the drive to Apparate, the spot marked with an intricately coiled black iron fountain. 

“Penelope first, then Dean, then me. Wait ten seconds between so we don’t end up on top of each other. Malfoy, Hermione, you’ll bring up the rear. Everybody ready?” They all nodded in unison, before Penelope disappeared with a sharp _crack._

“I’m still not letting you Apparate alone.” Malfoy’s voice was quiet, his mouth entirely too close to her neck. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s perfectly safe,” she responded at a normal volume. Harry looked at her strangely. “I promise, my spellwork is solid.”

Harry and Dean traded eye rolls, and Dean disappeared with a second crack!

“I’m not questioning your spellwork,” Malfoy sneered. “I’m questioning that deathtrap in a box.”

“Oh, hush, I’ve transported live artifacts before.” 

“Not ones that are so enticing. Lurixos are rare for a reason.” 

“Christ, the two of you,” Harry muttered under his breath, before Disapparating himself. 

“They’re rare because they’re difficult to harness correctly, not because they’re inherently any more deadly. I’ll have you know that just last month I Apparated with a candelabra that-”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he growled, before sending the box flying into her arms with a flick of his wand, wrapping one hand around her hip (a safe distance away from her murder box) and Apparated instantly to the Ministry. 

“You absolute fiend!” she shrieked, struggling to hold on to the box as they spun and spun and spun, landing on the Apparition spot in the Auror’s office unceremoniously. Malfoy stumbled to the side and Hermione fell over backwards, her balance affected by the sudden, unexpected departure, and the box slid out of her arms and landed on the floor with a solid _thump._

A tiny, hairline crack appeared at one of the seams, and out shone a subtle, golden glow.

“Shit.” 

****

“Malfoy, you foul, absolutely pig-headed - fuck shit fuck!” Hermione cursed wildly, whipping out her want and casting a long series of repelling spells and protective wards. “Move, everybody, move, I need to get this to a clean room yesterday!”

The entire Auror’s office had frozen when the soft glow had begun to seep out, and only began moving again once she had finished shouting. Dean had even crept closer to the cracked copper container before blinking back to himself and backing away quickly. 

“Granger, I didn’t mean-” 

“Shut UP, Malfoy,” she growled, nearly sprinting down the hallway, box floating along in front of her. “Move!” she screeched at a pair of DMLE beat cops, who scattered with a squeal. 

“I honestly thought your spell would hold for-” 

“Yes, well, it didn’t and I need to fix this.” Her voice had lowered into a panicked hiss as she skidded around the corner to the lab. She could still feel the sunshine on her fingertips, crawling towards her through that tiny split. She could smell a warm apple turnover, a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea beside it, and she nearly moaned before dragging a rough hand down her cheek. The first clean room was already in use, she’d dropped a cracked amulet in it the week prior that she hadn’t had time to return to, and the second one was shut down for repairs after the Candelabra Incident last month, so she was resigned to flinging herself the furthest distance down the hall to the third room, cursing so loudly that she wouldn’t have been surprised if they could hear her in the Atrium. 

It took a complicated series of waves and jabs with her wand before the door hissed open, and she propelled the levitating box forward as quickly as she could before shutting and sealing the door again, mumbling the incantations. 

“Granger, I’m so, so-”

“Save it.” 

“I swear, I didn’t think-”

“STOP!” she shrieked, rounding on him with her wand pointed straight out. “I told you that I would handle it! Handling dangerous, cursed artifacts is literally my job! I don’t know why in Merlin’s name you would insist on accompanying me when you are not trained in handling Dark artifacts, and moreso, why you would do so in a way that could have endangered the entire Ministry!” 

She broke off, chest heaving, realizing that during her tirade she had marched closer, and closer, and her wand tip was pressed sharply into his jugular. She lowered her arm with a hiss, shaking her head angrily.

“I couldn’t leave you there alone.” 

His grey eyes pounded down at her, anger and desperation in the set of his jaw. “It was too dangerous to leave you alone. Everyone has a partner.”

“I’m not a bloody Auror!” 

“No,” he agreed, his thumb coming up to press into her chin, “You’re better.” 

It was too much, too close. His hand cupped her jaw, and she somehow found the hand with her wand pressed flat to his chest. 

“We find the bloody curses, but you dismantle them. You make us all safe again. You’re better.” His breath slid over her face, smelling of warm bergamot tea. 

“I’m sorry I put you in danger. I never meant to do that to you. Hermione…” his voice trailed off as he tucked a loose curl behind her ear. 

_Hermione._ She remembered the smooth lines of his bare shoulders, the dimples at the base of his spine, his arse wrapped in smooth grey linens. _Hermione._ The way the short hairs at the base of his skull had slid through her fingers, the smooth grip of his palm on her waist. 

“I’ll be more careful next time.” She snapped back to reality, where that palm was cupping her cheek. She had tilted her chin upwards during her little trip down memory lane, and his mouth was so close… 

“Hermione!” 

Harry was jogging down the hallway towards them, and she sprang away from Malfoy guiltily. 

“Everybody alright down here?” Harry asked breathlessly. 

“Yes. It’s in Clean Room 3, all warded up. Shouldn’t be an issue now.” Hermione gave him a shaky little grin, and he exhaled in clear relief.

“Thank Merlin. That was almost a disaster.” His eyes were shining at her, all danger averted. “We could have died. Come for some drinks with us. ” 

“It’s a Tuesday!” 

“Even better, it won’t be as busy. C’mon, I’ll invite Dean and Ron, and Pansy too, it’ll be a regular toss up. Even the pet ferret can come.”

Draco sneered at him from the other side of the hallway. “I believe I have better things to do than drink subpar liquor in a grimy bar. You lot have no accounting for taste.” 

“Oh, hush, Malfoy. Fine. I’ll come.” Hermione shoved a few haphazard curls away from her face. “I’ll see you at the Leaky at seven or so, I need some time.”

“Of course.” Harry’s eyes were soft towards her now. “You did great today.” 

“Thanks, boss,” she joked tiredly, patting him on the arm. “I’m headed home. You’ll owl Ron?” 

“I’m positive he won’t miss it.” 

***

Hermione awoke to the buzzing of her wand with a stretch and a groan, feeling more exhausted than usual. Warding the damn Lurixo not once but twice had really taken it out of her, and she couldn’t be more grateful that she was able to get a cat nap in before their night out. 

A pair of tight fitting jeans, a soft sweater, and a yank of her curls into a messy bun later, she was ready to Floo over to the Leaky and resume their usual antics. 

Harry and Pansy would pretend to be interested in whatever newest products Ron had developed at the joke shop, and then would slowly fade into the darkest corner of whatever booth they had nabbed to snog and be inappropriately public. Ron would humor Hermione for no more than ten minutes before finding some eligible, pretty witch and slinking over to chat her up (and sometimes her friends, at the same time). Hermione would then retrieve her latest book from the depths of her leather satchel and read and drink until they all got too sloshed to Apparate. 

Except, of course, for those nights when Draco Malfoy joined them. 

On those nights, she would tuck her book away within five minutes and they would debate. The others called it “arguing,” but there wasn’t much heat in it. Not anymore, anyway. 

She didn’t know if Malfoy would come tonight - he tended to do what he liked, invitation or no - but she chose a book she didn’t particularly like, just in case. She’d probably be too tired to read it, anyway.

She had only been about five pages into _Magical Misfortunes and You!_ before Malfoy slid into the booth next to her, in the seat Ron had vacated twenty minutes prior. Harry and Pansy stopped their whispered conversation long enough to greet him before returning to their intimacy, and Hermione fought back a grimace. 

“Magical Misfortunes? I’m surprised you’re reading that drivel,” Malfoy commented before snatching a chip from her plate. Rude. 

“It’s a very important study into the inefficiency of relying on prophecies and the general incorrectness of their messages.”

“It’s a slapdash publication based on the opinion of someone who hates Divination.”

“Divination is a ridiculous field,” Hermione sniffed, but tucked a bookmark into place anyway. “Go get a drink, but watch your step. Ron is being particularly nauseating tonight.” 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t miss me too much.” Malfoy grinned at her rakishly before sliding back out of the booth. She was following the long line of his legs in those trousers - very well-fitted, even she could admit that - when an overexaggerated throat-clearing drew her attention back to the table.

Pansy had slipped away at some point, probably to chat with Malfoy at the bar, and it was just Harry staring at her very directly. 

“What are you waiting for, really?” His voice was soft to her, but his gaze hadn’t wavered. “We’ve all been watching you dance around each other for months.”

“There’s no dancing!” Hermione said hastily. “There’s no nothing, really, and besides, it’s not like either of us have the time for a real relationship.”

“I’m an Auror, too, and Pansy and I have made it work.” His chin settled into his hand, large eyes blinking over at her. “When it’s important, you make it work.”

“Well, there’s nothing between us, so it can’t be very important.” Hermione fiddled with the edge of her empty glass, smearing the mark from her chapstick back and forth until it no longer resembled the print of her lip. “It can’t be.”

Harry grabbed her hand from across the table, stilling her anxious movements. “It could.” 

She forced a smile out. “You’re so supportive, Harry, really, but between us? There’s nothing there.” Anymore, her traitorous mind whispered, but she shoved that thought down, down, down, and squished it like a bug underfoot. “I am just ridiculously tired though, honestly. I think I’ll pack it in for the night.”

It wasn’t even a lie. The nap earlier had helped, and she had thought she was much recovered, but even that little bit of socialization had drained her energy reserves rapidly. Bag slung over her shoulder, Hermione was only two steps out the door before she heard that voice calling out to her. 

“Hey,” Malfoy said breathlessly, catching up to her outside the pub. “Everything okay? I didn’t mean to split up your night, really, you know how bossy Pansy can be-”

“I didn’t leave because of you, you self-obsessed prat,” Hermione spat, but it wasn’t as venomous as she had intended. In fact, it almost sounded…. Sweet. “I really am tired. It was a hard day.”

“I know. And thank you, again. You’re invaluable to us, you know?” Malfoy had crossed in front of her then, holding her by her shoulders. He had lingered at the edge of a streetlight, his hair glowing a deep yellow from the reflection of the flames. She wanted to catch her breath in the hollows of his cheeks. “We wouldn’t finish out half the cases we do without you keeping us safe.”

“You’ve been laying it on rather thick lately,” she said, crossly. He was blurred around the edges from the low light, almost angelic-looking.

“Yes, well… I’ve found good reason to do so. Hermione,” his breath hitched, and she watched the movement of his throat dizzily, blearily. “I shouldn’t have left that morning. I should have stayed, at least until…” 

_Thud._

******

At least having his eyes on her was a familiar sensation. Her throat felt unnaturally parched, her limbs heavy. She had no idea what happened, before finding the steel grey of his gaze laser focused on her, cradling her head against his chest and bicep.

“You passed out. Hermione, are you alright?” 

She was cold. A bit damp, from the ground, but mostly cold. 

“You should get home. I think you’re a bit more tired than you realized.”

She wasn’t that tired. Just heavy, she guessed. Maybe a bit slow on the uptake, but who wasn’t, just after waking up?

“Merlin, you’re freezing. C’mon, let’s get Potter to take you home.”

She wished she could tell him she wanted him to take her home.

“Definitely getting Potter.”

She burrowed deeper into her pillow instead. 

******

More than anything else, Hermione Granger felt prepared. 

She slept in on Wednesday, waking just in time to toss herself together and Floo to work, but she didn’t feel at all hassled. In fact, she felt wonderful. 

Maybe she had just been sleep-deprived the night before. It wouldn’t be the first time she was so tired that she couldn’t remember how she got home. Harry would Floo her and tuck her in after long days at work, or Pansy would Apparate her home from the pub with her usual sniff of bored apathy before leaving a glass of water on the nightstand for her. 

Of particular excitement that morning was the thought of her Lurixo. It wasn’t unusual for Hermione to work with magical artifacts that she didn’t quite understand, but Lurixos were much more mysterious than your typical cursed amulet. Amulets were cake, in comparison. The spellwork to imbue common metals was easy to cast, and even easier to dismantle once she identified the particular curse used - which usually only took her about twenty minutes of light spell analysis.

In comparison, there were only two books that even mentioned Lurixos. Unfortunately for her, both of them had resided most recently in the hands of Lord Voldemort. They had been exclusively used by Dark magic users during the last war. She could attribute at least eight artifacts to Voldemort himself, based on Veritaserum-induced confessions from Death Eaters and Malfoy’s incomparably intimate wealth of knowledge. Bellatrix Lestrange had successfully created one, along with her husband, but both had died in the war as well, taking the power with them. 

None of that mattered. 

She was Hermione fucking Granger, and this problem was made to be solved. Specifically, by her. 

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t think of any magic-users who were inclined to be Dark enough, intelligent enough, and still alive to make a Lurixo. All she had to do was disable the damn thing.

It was eight in the morning when she slid on her dark dragonhide ‘armor’ (which was really an overcoat, complete with apron, and a pair of elbow length gloves, all imbued with a potion of distilled copper), cast several cleansing and protection spells on herself, and entered Clean Room #3. 

Even though the copper box was still intact (save for the crack), the entire room was shrouded in a warm yellow glow. Hermione pushed her magic outwards, feeling the shimmer where her wards extended around her body, and nodded decisively to herself. All in order. 

Using a series of precise Diffindos, she sliced apart the copper plates and then levitated them over to the opposite wall. The Lurixo seemed even brighter than before, pulsing slowly as it hovered in front of her chest.

Wand at the ready, she began her analysis. There were traces of the creator’s magic here, that she could feel winding and swirling through the orb like a spool of yarn. She was hoping to neutralize it first, identify its creator later, but as she poked and prodded her way around it, the little threads of magical signature were so enticing. She was sure she recognized it, if only she could pick it apart a little more...


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Malfoy was not, as many believed, an idiot. Or a bimbo, for that matter.

Yes, true, his father bought him his way through his first few years of school. And, as the heir to the Malfoy fortune and the possessor of unnaturally good looks (his father was the epitome of a DILF, as Daphne used to say at least weekly), it was easy for most people to dismiss him as a a vapid, stupid, beautiful man. 

He understood the whispers. He did his Ministry-mandated service time as a low-level Wizengamot clerk, pushing papers through for Death Eater imprisonment as the Aurors brought them in. After that, most assumed he would retire to his manor house and languish in his beauty, marry some airheaded heiress, and produce his singular pureblood son, as required.

When he chose to go through Auror training after his mandated service was over, there was a bit of a kerfuffle around the morality of it all. When he passed, and was grudgingly initiated, it was widely assumed he bought his way in as a way to show how much the Ministry (and he) had reformed.

And he was, in fact, reformed.

He publicly renounced his father and declared his lifetime sentence in Azkaban to be not nearly long enough, to Rita Skeeter’s absolute delight (she still had a soft spot for him, ever since he passed her information in Hogwarts). He made enormous, public, charitable donations to every post-war fund that was started - establishing orphanages for the children, supporting Muggle-borns who had lost their homes and worldly possessions, and financing an entire wing of the Hogwarts restoration among his chief efforts. His father was short-sighted, but he was exceptionally politically savvy (read: slippery), and Draco had learned from the best.

He was so reformed, so wonderfully cleared of all charges, that he grew overconfident. He had clawed his way from former Death Eater, Voldemort’s darling family, to the top-marked Auror in a matter of years. His rise was meteoric, and so was his ego (it didn’t hurt him to recognize that fact). Oh, he had so far to fall - and fall he did.

More like crash, burn, send his entire life as he knew it up in flames. And it only took one night.

One Ministry-mandated, earth-shattering night. 

Her wide brown eyes had caught his across the ballroom, and he’d turned away, content with his firewhiskey and his ego and the Wizengamot member he was keenly chatting up, and tried to forget the way she pierced him from fifty feet away.

He caught her watching him for the second time as he was collecting a refill on his drink, turning from the bar with an irreverent salute to find her gaze catching on his and sliding away surreptitiously. He took the opportunity to examine her from afar - she had donned a sleek silver dress for the occasion, dipping low down her back and plunging a moderate distance in the front, all her tanned skin on display. 

He swallowed with some difficulty, wrote her gaze off as a fluke, and went to find Blaise. 

The night was nearly over - even Skeeter had stopped prowling around - when he caught her watching him _again_. More specifically, checking him out - he definitely saw her eyes slide over his shoulders, down his torso, _pause_ , down his legs, and all the way back up. When she met his eyes, one brow quirked, she flushed violently and turned away. 

_Interesting_ , he mused, but let it go. The suit was bespoke, after all, and she was far from the first to linger on it that night. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either.

He was shaking a last round of hands, promising an afternoon drink with some French ambassador that claimed to know his father, when he felt that prickle on the back of his neck. _Again._

“-see you on Sunday, absolutely,” she was saying to Harry as Draco strolled up casually, the pair of them lingering by the Floo-specified fireplaces. “And tell Pansy to stop trying to set me up, honestly, the last one was essentially a troll-”

“He wasn’t a _troll,_ Christ, and you shouldn’t say those things about her family-”

“Oh, third cousins are barely family anyway, Harry,” she sniffed, purposefully keeping her eyes on the still-orange embers in the grate. “Anyway, I’ll see you for brunch.” 

“Take care,” he smiled at her before disappearing in a whoosh of emerald. 

“You know, if Pansy’s trying to set you up with a troll, you should probably give it a shot. She’s got good taste.” Draco sidled up in front of her, settling his body against the fireplace in a way that probably shouldn’t have been so attractive. 

“Do you need something?” Hermione asked neutrally. She was already flushing, despite what he assumed was her best effort not to.

“You think I hadn’t noticed your wandering eye tonight, Granger?” He wasn’t so obtrusive that she couldn’t duck into the Floo if she wished - he was just angled against it perfectly enough to be an imposition. “I can’t say I blame you. Madame Claire does excellent work. Truly, the ironing enchantment is _magnifique-”_

“I don’t care about your bloody suit,” she broke in, and his grin spread across his face, catlike. 

“You could have fooled me.” He pushed himself off the fireplace with just his shoulders, and Hermione almost shivered as he stalked toward her, purposefully filling the space between them. The wizards he’d been chatting with had disappeared through another Floo when she wasn’t paying attention, and the foyer was quiet in a way that just intensified the feedback noise between them as he came closer, closer. 

“I saw you watching me,” he murmured, letting his hooded gaze track her. 

“I was doing nothing of the sort,” she said haughtily, steadfastly refusing to meet his eye. “If we made eye contact, it must have been pure chance.”

“I didn’t say I was watching you back.” 

Suddenly, he felt so _close._ She had been trying hard not to look at him again (because yes, she could admit to herself that she was looking earlier), but now he loomed in front of her, filling up her sight. 

She took another moment to drink him in - the smooth line of his neck, above the suit collar, and the way his hair smoothed perfectly around his face, making those cheekbones even more prominent-

“-see, shall we?” he finished, and Hermione was dismayed to realize she hadn’t been listening to a word he said.

“Huh?” she said, intelligently, and he chuckled, one finger coming up to smooth the furrow between her brows. 

“I asked if you’d come back to mine. Fancy a nightcap?” 

Her eyes had shut while the tips of his finger slid down her nose, bopping it gently, and before she gave herself time to think it through, she exhaled a _yes._

“But,” she stopped him, his fingers already stained green from clutching the powder, “I have one condition.”

“Name it,” he said, his shark’s smile coming out to play. 

“We do it at my place.” 

His smile spread. “Easy.”

His free hand grasped one of hers, dumping the Floo powder as he stepped aside with a grand sweeping of arms, a sort of _go ahead, then._

She murmured the address to the flames, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear, and then wrapped her fingers around his wrist. 

*****  
That night had been four months ago. Four months in which he poked, and prodded, and teased her, all in a vain attempt to get her to admit that if they could give it a shot, it might as well be explosive.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t seen her in a week. 

Not that that _bothered_ him, per se. It was just… unusual. She was typically up in the Auror conference rooms at least twice a week, sharing updates on her artifacts with the team, but… maybe he missed them when he was out in the field.

He had only been in the field once this week, but it was still possible. 

Until Harry fucking Potter walked in that morning, and beelined for Draco’s cubicle. 

“Have you seen Hermione in the past few days?”

“Yes, hello, good to see you too-”

“Answer the question.”

“To answer your question, I DEFINITELY DON’T HAVE A TRACKING SPELL ON HERMIONE GRANGER,” he shouted dramatically.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy, she’s - she’s -” Harry ducked down into the cubicle, a hand clenched in his hair, and muttered, “I think she may be missing.”

“ _May_ be? When’s the last you heard from her?”

Harry shifted uneasily, then, and said, “Last Tuesday.”

“Potter, that was _almost a week ago_.” 

“Yes, well… she doesn’t always work regular hours, and I wasn’t worried until she didn’t show up for Sunday brunch, but I spent all day yesterday trying to get in touch with her and she’s just - just gone, I checked her office and her house and the Burrow and I even called Mungo’s, just in case, but-”

Draco interrupted him with a flattened hand. “So, put out a missing persons report.” 

“Are you insane?” Harry’s eyes were almost panicked at this point. “Do you have any idea what would happen if I made a _public record_ that a war hero is missing? God, that’s just… no. No. I need you to find her.”

“How the fuck should I know where she is?”

“Obviously _no one_ knows where she is,” Harry gritted between his teeth, “so I need you to use that brain we fucking hired you for and _find her_.”

“I thought you hired me for my money,” Drace drawled impertinently. Harry’s face flushed dangerously. “Did you check her Floo records?”

Harry drew back. “....no.” 

“Well, let’s start there,” Draco huffed, followed by a barely audible “can’t believe _you’re_ my _boss._ ”

Fortunately for them, the records department was on the same floor as their offices. Unfortunately, the harpy who worked the window was _not_ very susceptible to Draco’s usual form of charm. 

“I can’t give you access without a warrant,” the harpy droned, followed by what sounded suspiciously like “ _dumb fucking Aurors_ ”. 

Draco, who was already leaning casually across the countertop, winning smirk in place, didn’t bat an eye. “Can’t such a lovely woman like yourself make an exception? There may be certain…. benefits for you,” he purred. 

“No warrant, no access,” she replied boredly, flicking one claw at the elbow resting on her monthly calendar. 

“What about for him? A two-for-one deal?” Draco lifted her outstretched claw and kissed it, ignoring her indignant squawk… until she noticed the other form in the room, skulking behind Draco with embarrassment. 

“Head Auror Potter!” she screeched, feathers rising around her face. 

“Hi there, Magda, wonderful to see you again-” Harry hedged, but the harpy had already flicked open three filing cabinets, folders rushing forth to stack themselves into an untidy pile on the counter. 

“All of our records from Hermione Granger in the past month, sir,” the harpy trilled, levitating them into a nearby tote bag. Harry lifted it onto his shoulder, a grim smile pasted across his face. “I do hope you’ll come back soon… it can get rather lonely back here…” Her feathers slicked back from her face in a way that Draco was sure was supposed to be inviting, but instead made her look even more frightening than normal. 

“Yes, Magda, of course, of course- well, we must be going now, bye!” Harry nearly sprinted through the still-open door, and with a final hiss in his direction from Magda, Draco followed him back out into the hallway. 

“What in the _actual_ fuck-” 

“On my second week of Auror training I tripped over a chair in the waiting room and fell on top of her,” Harry said breathlessly, nearly running in his haste to be away. “She’s been like _that_ ever since.”

“Well, that could certainly come in handy if we ever need surreptitious access to records, not that I would ever use you for those purposes, because I’m definitely reformed-” 

“Save it for someone else, Malfoy, you know I don’t give a shit as long as you do your job,” Harry interrupted, and Draco actually stopped short, shaking his head, before catching up to him.

“Conference Room C is empty today, let’s go,” Harry muttered, poking his head surreptitiously around the hallway bend before ducking into the smaller conference room, the files neatly hidden under his arm. 

With a few flicks, the door closed and locked, and a standard privacy charm lowered over the tinted windows. 

“Isn’t an entire month of records overkill?” Draco mused as he started shuffling through the top file, scrambling to find the latest date.

“Better safe than sorry. You’d think these would be in chronological order, at least.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I have Tuesday the fourth here, what do you have?”

“Shite, the latest I found was the 30th. Keep looking.”

Twenty minutes and seventy curse words later, the walls were covered in a messy timeline of Floos and Apparations, the file folders had been thrown across the tiny room, and Harry was sitting cross legged on top of the standard cheap wooden table. 

“Okay, it looks like you Flooed her home on Tuesday night, the 10th, and then she Flooed here to the Ministry on Wednesday morning? And then nothing?”

Grimly, Harry said, “Well, that tracks. That’s the last I saw her.” 

Draco exhaled loudly. “Me, too.” 

“So, she’s here.” Harry’s hands were creeping towards his hair. 

“Not necessarily. She could have... walked somewhere.”

“Please, Malfoy, no one walks anywhere from the Ministry.” Harry started to pace - a difficulty given that the conference room was really only about 10 feet wide. “She’s here. She has to be here, in the building, somewhere.”

Draco pulled out his wand. “Expecto Patronum.” 

His fox sat in midair sleekly, tail pulled around its front feet. “Hermione Granger. Potter is freaking out. Tell him you’re fine, please. _Immediately._ ” A swish, and the fox trotted off to the wall, where it dissolved in a fine mist. 

Five minutes passed with no response, then ten, then twenty, before Draco could hold his tongue no longer.

“Assuming she is here, in the Ministry. Where would she be? Did you check the clean rooms?”

“I checked them myself this morning. They’re all warded up tight, she and Shacklebolt are the only ones who can open them.”

“I hate to say this. Doesn’t she liaise with the DoM sometimes?”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck. Yeah. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. _Fuck._ Let’s go.”

*****

Hermione hummed out a sigh contentedly. It was like waking up in her bed, surrounded by a fluffy mass of comforter, warm heat draped over her hip and the smell of bergamot nestled against her neck. She’d never been so comfortable. 

She felt warm and golden, diffused light settled on her skin. She entertained the idea of a stretch, but instead burrowed deeper into the warm and the comforting scent of an apple turnover, fresh from the oven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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